The air had that rust-and-mud smell to it. Ji-hoon took up a place on the lip of Dust, facing away from the ghost town, his gaze toward the horizon. The compass he held softly buzzed in his palm, its needle softly aglow pointing west—immobile and true.
"I get it," he said softly. "Go west. Head toward the Trader's Camp."
He cinched the straps on his leather jacket, adjusted the pickaxe on his back, and stepped out into the unknown for the first time. His legs still throbbed from the previous night, but the short rest had done some good. More importantly, the fear had turned to determination.
The terrain beyond town was parched, open, and went on for miles. No signs, no trails. Just vast cracked ground and clumps of withered grass. Occasionally, he walked past the skeletal hulks of wagons, broken fences, or long-dead bodies—some human, some not.
Thirty minutes of walking, and there it was: a worn sign protruding from the ground.
"Trader's Camp - 12 Miles West"
Ji-hoon gazed at it for a long time.
"Twelve miles. on foot? Are you kidding me?"
A system ping came right after.
[Notification: Area Transition]
Region: Wasteland Path
Danger Level: Medium (Increases at Night)
Estimated Travel Time to Trader's Camp: 5–6 hours on foot. Travel not recommended after dark. Suggested: Mount or vehicle.
"Yeah, yeah, rub it in," Ji-hoon huffed.
He gazed in the direction of the west. The sun still lingered above the horizon, but it began its gradual slope downward. He calculated in his mind. Even if he maintained a constant stride, night would come before reaching halfway.
It was then he saw something off in the distance.
A large ranch.
A pair of fenced paddocks, a barn and a half-broken windmill, and a little house with smoke rising from the chimney. Cows pastured in the fields, and more importantly, there were horses.
His heart leaped.
"If I can get a horse, I can make it before night."
He moved quickly but low, clinging to trees and rocks, eyes always alert for movement. Open fields were deadly—zombies could see him too easily. But none seemed to be anywhere. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Once he reached the property line, he hunkered behind a broken fence and brought out the binoculars he discovered at the general store.
Through the scratched lens, he looked over the ranch. He spotted two horses—one black, one chestnut—hitched in a half-collapsed stable. There was a water trough, some hay, and a few tools scattered about. He spotted no people. No survivors.
And no zombies.
"Either this place is safe… or already looted."
He entered the ranch through a hole in the fence. His boots crunched on old hay. The horses didn't bolt—they stared at him, alert but calm. He approached slowly, hands raised.
The black one flicked its ears but didn't run.
"Easy, big guy… I'm not here to hurt you."
He reached out and touched the horse's side.
A message appeared.
[New Objective: Mount Required]
Mount Available: Black Quarter Horse (Unnamed)
Condition: Hungry, Calm
Trust Level: Low. Saddle needed. Bridle needed.
"Okay. Let's gear up."
He went into the barn. Inside, dust drifted in the sunlight that poured through the holes in the roof. He discovered some useful materials: a saddle half-buried under tarp, a frayed bridle, and a rope long enough to use as an improvised substitute.
There was even a tack box full of brushes, a rusty horseshoe set, and—apparently out of nowhere—a cowboy hat.
He grinned and put the hat on his head.
"Style is important."
He spent thirty minutes cleaning the saddle and buckling it on painstakingly. He gave the horse a few wisps of hay, then looped the rope around to form a crude bridle. The creature shifted but did not resist him.
[Mount Equipped]
Speed: +200% (relative to on-foot movement)
Inventory Capacity: +12 Slots
Status: Tamed (Temporary)
Note: Rider Skill: Basic. Threat of being tossed when running or spooked.
Ji-hoon got into the saddle, coming perilously close to sliding over the other side.
"Okay, yeah, not exactly a cowboy."
He practiced a few laps around the yard. The horse responded well enough, but stiffly. Better than walking, though. He stopped for a drink at the well, picked a couple of apples from the garden, and got going.
Then he looked west once more.
The sky was beginning to change—blue lightening to pale gold, shadows lengthening.
He didn't have time to lose.
With a single yank on the rope, he and the horse—now Dusty—were racing down the road.
Land rushed by in a blur. Wind ripped at his jacket. Ji-hoon clung firmly, body aching but adrenaline pumping.
The compass in his pocket throbbed more quickly, glowing brighter the nearer he came to the Trader's Camp.
But as he rode across the desolate plains, he spotted evidence of things he didn't want to see.
Torn garments strewn about in the underbrush.
A wrecked wagon, ripped open, filled with bones within.
And a wooden stake full of carvings. Scratch-written on the side was the warning:
"Don't head to the camp after dark. They're no longer human."
Ji-hoon reined Dusty in.
He double-checked the note.
"What in the world is that supposed to mean?"
A system alert glowed again.
[Nightfall Approaching – 2 Hours Remaining]
Trader's Camp Distance: 6 Miles
Warning: Risk of encountering mutated zombies increases after dark.
New Objective: Arrive before nightfall or find alternate shelter.
He glanced between the road and the untamed hills to his left.
There could be a cave. A cabin. Perhaps nothing.
Or he could ride on, take a chance, and reach the camp before sunset.
Ji-hoon clenched his teeth and gazed up at the sky.
"Whatever's waiting for me… I'll deal with it."
He kicked Dusty's sides gently.
The horse surged forward.
They rode west—into danger, into dusk, into the unknown.
But Ji-hoon had made one thing clear:
He wasn't walking anymore.